Shift
by dgschneider
Summary: We will call this pre-season 9 because let's face it post season 8 finale was just too traumatic! Just a short acknowledgement of that pain that they were left with and the need for something to shift and bring them back together - M to be on the safe side - ratings seem awfully vague & because I have teenage daughters


A/N okay - truth be told it took me longer to figure out a name for this story than it did to write it LOL I have had the hardest time dealing with the season 8 finale - close my eyes and there they are, broken Booth and Brennan, both hurting from what he had to do. How hard of a time you ask? Even though I know there are countless wonderful stories out there to read about how it works out I just can't bring myself to read any of them (with one exception) there is simply not enough money in the budget for therapy or enough Zoloft in the world. The one exception would be _threesquares_ wonderful story _Arabian Nights_ which pulled me in with its wonderful name (couldn't resist) and then hooked me immediately with captivating stories that Booth told Brennan to hang onto her. If you haven't read it - it is a must! This a wrote mainly for myself because I had to address their pain and get them back on some kind of solid ground - even if it was still shaky. Hope you enjoy it - let me know what you think :) and happy Labor Day weekend!

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It killed him to watch her, to see the pain on her face. He had caused that pain, he knew it, he felt it, he agonized over it. So he watched her less and less to try and escape it. In all their years he had never really avoided her. In fact, most of them he'd been more like a moth to a flame. But now, now he couldn't bear it, he couldn't risk telling her, he couldn't fix it until the whole situation with Pelant was resolved. So he busied himself, he stayed away. It had to be what she wanted right? It had to make it easier on her to not be reminded, right? Because what he saw when he was there was such a loss and so much pain that there was no way it was worse when he stayed away.

So he did.

But it wasn't easier on her. That was his mistake. She had come to a place of security with Booth, security that she hadn't allowed herself to have since the morning she woke up and her parents were gone. Trusting another person for her safety emotionally, physically, it had taken her literally years to get there and now, now it was all crumbling. And she didn't understand why, what she had done that made him want Rebecca for a wife and Hannah for a wife and not want her. It hurt, it confused her, it seemed like it was going to be their undoing, their destruction. And she kept waiting, waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to let her be close to him, waiting for him to explain. Because in his eyes she saw hurt too. Why would he do something that hurt her and him? Maybe she would have walked away if it hadn't been for the pain she saw there. Maybe she would have considered leaving but as abandoned as she felt something screamed to her to give it some time, to wait, to hope that things would get better.

So she did.

He was late getting home, it had become habit, climbing the stairs quietly hoping the girls, his girls would be asleep already. One of them was. He hovered over the crib thinking over the craziness that had been this baby's life. Such a young life and so much drama, on the run with her mother, now stuck in the middle of a serial killer's tangled puppet strings. She was so small and innocent but he knew that children felt the life around them. He wondered what she felt. Stroking her tiny curls gently, wanting to pick her up and hold her close, wrap his protective body around her tiny one, and never let the world touch her. There were very few times he questioned what he had chosen as a career. He knew the importance of their work, his work. But tonight as he looked on at his tiny helpless daughter stuck in the effect of their work on their family, he was ready to walk away from it all. A few more minutes and he would make his way to the bedroom he shared with her mother and try and pretend like everything was normal. He let out a long deep sigh.

When he reached the bedroom Bones wasn't in their bed as he had expected. It had been a horribly long week, a terribly disturbing case, and he had seen the tiredness in her eyes when she offered to pick Christine up from day care and take her home. He thought she wouldn't be far behind the baby tumbling into sleep. Instead he heard the shower running. Maybe she was having as hard of a time winding down as he was. He tapped on the bathroom door out of courtesy, "Bones," he wasn't loud, "Bones, I'm home." It sounded so normal, even to him, like any other night before _that_ night. "Hey, I'm going to get a drink, do you want one?"

There was a long pause, maybe she hadn't heard him over the shower. Maybe she chose not to respond. Either way, he thought, as he started to retreat. It seemed like all he did was retreat from her lately. Then he heard her soft voice, "Yes, please." There was a hesitation there, "I will be out in a few minutes."

He took his time. Poured himself a scotch, a glass of her favorite wine. He drank his as he looked around the kitchen. The blender was out, maybe to make smoothies in the morning. Fruit beautifully stacked in the basket. Coffee maker set. He loved their home, their life together. Not too sterile, not too messy. Just the right amount of both. They, up until recently, balanced each other out almost perfectly. His mind drifted back to that stupid blender. He remembered immediately after the engagement fiasco feeling paranoid. He knew that Pelant had been in their home. He knew he was watching. Angela had figured how he was getting into peoples' computers, hacking webcams and security cams. Their lives, he was hacking their lives. For a while there he couldn't look at anything electronic without wondering, is Pelant listening or watching? One tired morning even the blender had freaked him out, was this how Hodgins felt, he wondered. He chuckled at himself in his empty kitchen and poured another scotch. Now he was used to being careful, not paranoid. Their new reality, the one only he was privy to, had settled in.

He grabbed the glasses and headed back upstairs.

The shower was still running even though it had been much more than a few minutes. He opened the bathroom door and set her glass on the counter, nursing his own. He had stood in this position often over their time together, watching her silhouette through the hazy shower glass. Memories etched in that glass, the beauty that was her. To just stand there and watch, sometimes joining her, sometimes just feeling blessed that she was his and he was given the right, the privilege of being there after waiting so many years. But tonight, he registered quickly, there was no silhouette.

"Bones?" It was completely unlike her to leave the water running, she was nothing if not overly conscientious.

"Bones?" he called her name louder as he looked in their dressing area and closet.

"Bones?" as he whispered in Christine's room.

"Bones?" almost irritated, slightly panicked back in the bathroom this time he flung the shower door open in a desperate search for her. The water was cold, icy cold, and she was huddled in the corner of the shower. Slamming his fist against the spout he shut off the water, then fell around her to the wet shower floor. "Bones, are you okay? Did you fall?" but he knew instantaneously she didn't fall or get hurt. She was sobbing, her body shaking almost uncontrollably. He gathered her up in his arms holding her. Instinct took over, years of love took over, he kissed her head, stroked her hair carefully moving it away from her face where it was stuck from the moisture. "It's okay, baby, I'm here," not thinking that he was the source of her confusion, her hurt, her tears. Because in that moment he wasn't thinking about Pelant or broken engagements or the fallout from months of emotional torment all he could think about was how much he loved her and how much he wanted to take her pain away. "I'm here, I'm not leaving." It was then that the harshest reality hit him, he did this, these tears were his, the ones she hadn't been letting him see. He held her tighter.

"I'm not leaving, I love you. I swear I love you, Temperance, please believe me." He started running his hands along her trembling body trying to wrap her up in his own, to warm her, to remind her. Pulling on her to bring her up and out of the shower his head tucked into her neck he whispered, "I'm so sorry." Over and over he whispered pulling her tighter and tighter, willing her to come back and be a part of him, to remember how much he loved even worshiped her.

At first her whole being fought, fought herself, fought him. She wanted to run from him and at the same time she wanted to get lost in him. She chose to not do either, she just stood there numb. But he didn't leave and his touch was warm and pure like it had always been with her. She found she couldn't resist feeling his words as they mingled with his gentle touch. It felt almost like the night Vincent Nigel Murray had died when the world had slipped away leaving just them, just her and him. She felt his lips on her neck, the soft touch and heavy breath as he begged her to forgive him for hurting her. She felt his hands, those strong rough hands, trace the silhouette of her body so tenderly. Her head fell to his shoulder. Her hands rose up to the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the buttonholes, "I got you all wet." She was shaking her head in regret, shuddered breaths escaping as she tried to regain her composure.

"Bones, I don't care about being wet." He looked down on those beautiful hands still working to free him from his wet shirt and when they had she carefully slid them under the shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. He couldn't breathe as she pulled her body next to his, their skin touched in a way that it hadn't for so long. It was a blur from there as they slipped farther away from reality and fell into one another.

Making love was different that night. They felt the weight of the last couple months, the pain, the frustration, the hurt pull them apart. Only to have their love, their devotion, their hope in one another slam them back together. It was war, a battle that seemed to be playing out in every area of their lives and now in their bed. They fought to hang onto each other almost losing their grip then clinging, pulling back to the place where they were as close as they could possibly be only to be wrenched apart then grasping, clawing, begging they would come back to the closeness, the oneness. In the end, their closeness won. They collapsed, unwilling to move. He wrapped his strong arms around her and promised to stay, promised to be home more, promised to never let her go so long without seeing his love again. She promised her faith in him, her heart, even though she didn't understand, even though she couldn't, she would accept what he offered until she could understand, until he could explain. In that moment they knew they would be okay. It would be hard, they would have to work it out together, go through it together. But they had done it before, been through so much together before, they knew now they could get through this too.

So they did.


End file.
